


Concupiscent

by notjustmom



Series: Towel Day 2016 [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, The Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:45:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The idea was fantastically, wildly improbable. But like most fantastically, wildly improbable ideas it was at least as worthy of consideration as a more mundane one to which the facts had been strenuously bent to fit." -Douglas Adams (from "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul")</p><p>concupiscent: adjective: känˈkyo͞o pis ənt, kən-: filled with sexual desire; lustful.</p><p>1400-50; Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Late Latin concupiscentia, from Latin concupiscent-, concupiscens, present participle of concupiscere to desire ardently, from com- + cupere to desire</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with one look across a crime scene. John was chatting with Lestrade one moment, the next, he shot Sherlock a look of what he could only describe as concupiscent...at the very least, interested. He blinked and it was gone. 

Did he imagine it?

A trick of the light? 

A simple case of indigestion? 

He quickly processed and ruled out a multitude of scenarios that could explain the 'look.' But he was left with the nagging feeling that somewhere along the way, he had missed something.

Was it impossible that John considered him in that way? No, not truly impossible, but inconceivable in Sherlock's well-tested conception of his flatmate. Unlikely... improbable, but not impossible. Data was needed...yes, evidence. Good. Fine. Right. He needed to test this conjecture in the only way he knew, turn this...this idea into a puzzle, look at the pieces, dissect it, turn it inside out...solve it.

Sherlock rattled off the solution to their present case, a 4, a five if it were a slow week, then walked off to find a cab as he always did. Whatever John gave up in height to Sherlock, he made up for it in speed, so in no time, he was by Sherlock's side. The ride home was aggravatingly average, John asked appropriate questions about the solution to the case, nodding as if he understood...

"Brilliant, as usual." Then he turned toward the window and was silent until they reached Baker Street. Sherlock flew up the stairs as always, John paid the cabbie as always...Sherlock hung up his scarf and coat, toed off his shoes, and threw himself in his chair, waiting for John to climb the stairs. 

"Night, Mrs. Hudson...he could've solved it without leaving the flat...yeah...seems simple when he explains it...amazing..."

Sherlock shrugged, nothing new there...John was whistling as he walked into the flat, he hung up his coat and sat on the couch as he untied his shoes, as per his usual routine, he took them off and put on his slippers, then settled in for a couple of hours of crap telly, yes, it had helped on that one case...but...

"Night, Sherlock, I have a double shift tomorrow, so if I don't see you-" and Sherlock heard John's bedroom door shut with a loud click.

Sherlock blinked, he looked at his phone and registered that he had lost two hours, doing what, he had not a fuck- delete that...clue.

John never expected a response, so Sherlock's silence did not set off any bells.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

It was a typical crime scene, just odd enough to interest Sherlock, but in the end, all too easily solved. He glanced over and recognised the moment when the pieces all fell together and his eyes met Sherlock's, the tiniest flicker of...oh damn. He turned sharply, and began a conversation with Greg that he didn't remember five minutes later.

He had hoped Sherlock had missed that moment when his walls had fallen, a blip...

"George, it's perfectly obvious...." He performed his usual magic, then was off hailing the cab that always seemed to be awaiting his command, a raise of those long fingers...fu- he was in trouble.

Normal, just act normal. Stick to your routine. Routine. Right. Got it. "So you realised the shoeprint was planted...?" Off he went, happily showing off, demonstrating how it was an impossible stride because....Finally they were home. Sherlock flew up the stairs as was his wont, he paid the cabbie as habit demanded. Luckily Mrs. Hudson had just stepped out of her flat, so he had a moment to breathe, and think of...Donovan and Anderso- yep, that did it - whew. He chatted a bit, then took a deep breath and headed up the stairs. Routine. Open door. Hang up jacket. Grab slippers...whistling and it's that one...damn it - stop it. Sit on the couch. Untie shoes, left first? Or right? Stop thinking. No thinking - put on slippers. Telly...yes, good mindless drivel, even Sherlock got a little hooked...

"Night, Sherlock, I have a double shift tomorrow, so if I don't see you-" and he escaped to his room.

 

The next morning(in reality about four hours later), he acted according to routine, exited his room, and was met by the equilvalent of a human spider web, with a pacing detective at its center. 

"Sherlock?"

"John? Why are you up so early...oh, right, you said something about a double shift. Let me just uhm...pull some of this out of your way...

"New case, then?"

"Hmm. No...yes...I don't really know, it has just come to my attention, not quite sure how old the situation is."

Damn. He knows, or thinks he knows...oh hell - 

"I can explain -"


	3. Chapter 3

John wound his way through the gnarled jumble of yarn, bits of wire, twine, and embroidery floss; Sherlock had even sacrificed his shoelaces in his attempt to connect enough dots to clear up the case that wouldn't let him rest.

"The Pool..."

"Ever since the Pool?" Sherlock put his fingers to his lips and mentally rearranged a few things. "Your last real date was that Sarah person...after the Black Lotus case, you had spent one night on the sofa..."

"Lilo, it was the lilo."

"Why did I think it was the sofa?"

"We started on the sofa, but she begged off, 'early shift' and went to bed, the lilo was already made up..."

"Ah."

"Yeah, after the Pool, it hit me, I had already killed once to save you, we were both willing to die with each other...the look in your eye when you realised I wasn't Moriarty, but just another pawn in his game, I knew."

"You knew? You knew...what exactly?"

"That I was and am willing to spend the rest of my life as just your friend...because I can't imagine..."

"...What? What can't you imagine, John?"

"My life without you."

"Why?"

"Why? Why what? Damn it, Sherlock, I'm getting tangled in...kite string? Do we even have a kite?"

"Experi-"

"-ment. Right. Where were we...oh. Right. Why?"

"Yes, in all of my calculations, estimations and wild arse guesses, I could not find a 'why' that made any sense logically."

John had made it through the snares, tangles and knots to stand in front of his flatmate and friend.

"Love isn't logical, you idiot."

"Love?"

"Ahh...sentiment."

"Yes, that comes into it. You are the person I want to wake up next to, the last person I see when I fall asleep at night or 3 am, and you are the only person I want to grow old with."

"You -"

"Yes."

"- and you would have settled for just being my friend for the rest of your life. If I didn't feel the same?"

John nodded.

"It's a huge risk, improbable and inconceiv-"

John closed his eyes and prayed to whatever supreme whatever was watching over them; then softly pulled Sherlock into a kiss.

"able, the odds that you would -"

"I don't think that word means what you think it means."

"That's a cultural reference I should know."

"Yes, love."

"Say that again."

"Love?"

"Yes, please?"

"Yes. Love."


End file.
